sandcastles
by a.lakewood
Summary: After graduation, Stiles takes a week to celebrate surviving not just high school, but Beacon Hills. But he doesn't go alone. Derek needs a break just as much as he does.


The summer before Stiles turned eight, his mother took him to San Francisco for a week. They ended their stay with a weekend at Point Montara Lighthouse where they went horseback riding and whale watching, where they built the biggest sandcastle on the beach that they'd constructed too close to the water and stood back as the waves crashed over the lopsided towers and destroyed Stiles' carefully constructed moat.

It wasn't long after they returned – they were still finding sand in their shoes and in the seats of the car – when his mother first started showing signs of her illness.

That was Stiles' last _really_ good summer. It was hard to let himself be happy after she died. Even at eight – nine, ten, and well into his teens – he felt guilty for laughing or even smiling sometimes.

Then his life changed drastically, again, during his sophomore year of high school and he practically – almost literally – lived for those few brief moments when he could find the humor of their situation, could crack a joke and lighten his friends' moods.

Had he known werewolves existed, he'd have found some kind of irony in the fact that the last good weekend he spent with his mother was at a place called Half Moon Bay. Well, irony in an Alanis Morissette kind of way. In reality it was just an odd coincidence with, maybe, some vague foreshadowing. And barely even that because it's _Half Moon_ and not _Full Moon._ But, well, it was a reach.

So, of course the lighthouse is the first place he thinks of when his dad suggests taking a pack trip after graduation. After surviving hunters, the kanima, the alpha pack, and the darach, not to mention Stiles' own near-break with sanity with the whole nogitsune mess and losing first Erica and Boyd, then Allison, an honest to god vacation sounded like perfection. Just some time away from Beacon Hills and the danger and weirdness drawn to it like iron filings to a magnet.

But Scott and Kira already have plans for their own little getaway, Liam's headed out east to visit his mother's family, and Malia is still desperately trying to reconnect with the man she'd known as her father for nearly half her life.

Which leaves Derek.

And if anybody needs a break as bad as Stiles, it's Derek Hale.

Stiles plans his approach, corners Derek at Kira's graduation party where Scott is distracted with his girlfriend and Malia and Liam are with the Yukimuras at the refreshment table learning about... sushi, looks like.

Derek's standing by himself off to the side of the Yukimuras' backyard in the shade of a tall oak tree with a clear plastic cup of punch in his hand. "Hey," Stiles starts, sidling up beside him.

"Hey," Derek says back, glancing over at him before crossing his arms in that defensive way he has.

"So... Any big summer plans?"

The question actually garners Derek's full attention, he shifts on his feet to angle his body towards Stiles instead of looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He shrugs. "I thought about visiting Cora, but she said she'd call when she was ready to see me."

Stiles nods. "Well, if you're not doing anything... I'm going to San Francisco for a week at the end of the month." He makes it a point to meet and hold Derek's gaze. "Do you want to come with me?"

Derek squints at him like he's not sure what Stiles is playing at. "Why?"

"Because we survived another crazy, shit-tastic year? And we deserve some time away from this place?"

With a glance around the yard, Derek asks, "What about the others?"

"They've already got plans. It's just you and me, big guy."

Stiles swears Derek rolls his eyes as he shrugs. "I'll think about it."

And he does. For nearly two weeks before he finally agrees to go with Stiles just to get him to shut up and quit asking.

The hostel is just how Stiles remembers it, if slightly more weathered, with the squat Point Montara Lighthouse standing atop a bluff at the edge of the Pacific.

They spend the week hiking – it doesn't exactly come as a surprise when the horses spook the moment Derek enters their presence, so horseback riding is out – and whale watching and learning how to surf. It takes a lot of wheedling to drag Derek away from the book he's reading in the shade of a large umbrella on the beach to build a sandcastle with him, but he does.

They spend hours on the shore constructing an intricate castle with towers and turrets, a moat with a drawbridge made of driftwood.

Just like the last sandcastle Stiles built on this beach, it's a little too close to the rising tide. Derek points out the encroaching water and Stiles stands beside him as the ocean tumbles their masterpiece into the surf.

The waves roll in, higher and higher until water's lapping at Stiles' ankles, then they pack up and head back up to the hostel to drop off their things before starting on the mile-long walk to the market in Moss Beach where they buy fresh ingredients for dinner. Derek does most of the cooking when they return, but Stiles helps chop up vegetables while Derek prepares the fish.

The sun is just starting to set as they make their way back outside to eat, the sound of the ocean drowning out all other noises. There's fruit for dessert, and a nice local wine that leaves them both sated and sleepy, Stiles leaning on Derek for support as they trek across the sand.

They're leaving in the morning but Stiles doesn't want this fragile thing they've built between them over the last few days to crumble like their sandcastle. It's tentative and unacknowledged, but he's just relaxed enough, confident enough, that he musters up the courage to clutch at the back of Derek's shirt with one hand while reaching for the side of his neck with the other, closing the short distance between their mouths with half a thought and bated breath. Derek's hands are warm and gentle where they settle on Stiles' hips as he tilts his head a little to the left and kisses Stiles back.

"We should do this again," Stiles says once they continue on to the hostel.

"What?" Derek asks. "This?" He guides Stiles' mouth back to his with a palm cradling Stiles' jaw.

"No," Stiles says. Then, "Well, yes, but that's not what I meant. I meant _this._ Coming here. We had fun, didn't we?"

Derek nods, dragging his nose across Stiles' temple and pressing his lips to Stiles' forehead. "It was nice," he agrees. "We deserved it."

"Hell yeah, we did."

When they get to their room, they strip down to their shorts and Derek lets Stiles pull him into bed where he cuddles up to Derek's side under a thin blanket. Derek holds him close, noses at his hair as their breathing starts to slow and synchronize.

"If we wake up early enough," Stiles starts, half the words lost on a yawn, "we can watch the sunrise."

Derek snorts. "You sure you can handle getting up _that_ early?"

"Just make sure there's coffee."

"Anything else?"

"Waffles." A pause. "And bacon."

"I'll see what I can do."

The silence between them stretches out after that. Then, quietly, Stiles murmurs, "Derek?"

Derek hums, already starting to drift off.

"Thank you."

"For what?" Derek manages.

"For being here."

Derek tightens his hold on Stiles, kisses his forehead again, letting his lips linger. "You're welcome." He takes a deep breath, waits long enough for the moment to pass before saying, "Stiles? Go to sleep."

Stiles huffs, grumbles sleepily, and drops off into sleep feeling nothing but content and happy, dreaming of sandcastles.


End file.
